


A King With No Control

by poisonous_panda



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Mental Illness, Mourning, Self Harm, Shame, Survivor Guilt, secret, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonous_panda/pseuds/poisonous_panda
Summary: Noct's not coping with the events of the game as well as he makes out, he's got some unhealthy coping mechanisms





	A King With No Control

It was odd waking up without the sound of his Advisor’s voice shouting through the door.

It was odd waking up all alone.

But the one thing that wasn’t odd, was the fact his limbs felt heavy despite the full night’s sleep he just had.

Feeling the train surge underneath him, Noctis sighed.

He was tired. And he’d been tired for so many years now. Not physically, but mentally. Which led to physical exhaustion. It was a constant loop.

He’d coped and relapsed over the years in a spiralling pattern of control then a loss of it.

Take his picky eating. He may not have been able to control what happened to him, but he could control what went inside of him.

Then there was the sleeping. When his mind raged and battered his body with dark thoughts, Noctis would just close his eyes and let go. He didn’t sleep per se, he just…. went numb. But he was so good at hiding it, everyone just thought he was a sleeping little princess. In the car, in the motel room, in the caravan… it didn’t matter where he was.

And his deepest darkest secret…. was that limp.

He deserved it. For a multitude of reasons.

Noctis was still tortured by nightmares of the daemon that killed the royal convoy he was a part of as a child, the daemon that had tried to kill the little prince. Even slaying it hadn’t helped. Then there were the fires of Tenebrae and the death of his Beloved’s mother; Queen Sylva Nox Flueret. All because he and his family had visited.

Gladio’s scar down his face (that could have rendered him blind in one eye) was Noct's fault too - in his own mind at least. That drunkard had just been made redundant at work and blamed the royal family for the poor economy in Insomnia. If Noctis wasn’t the Prince then that drunk wouldn’t have attacked him with a broken beer bottle, and Gladio wouldn’t have had to take the hit. It wrenched Noct’s gut every time he looked at Gladio’s scar, but Gladio wasn’t the type for sympathy or softness so Noctis kept his mouth shut.

Then there was the uncertainty surrounding his Father’s death. It made Noct rip himself apart with regret at not nurturing a deeper bond with his Dad. But how was he to know? Not that that’s any excuse.

Poor Luna. Slowly dying so he could get stronger forging covenents with the Six, only to be stabbed right in front of him by the Chancellor’s blade. Yet again Noct was too weak to stop it. So he watched his bride die.

Pushing Prompto off the train. He should have been strong enough to see through Ardyn’s tricks. Instead Noctis has probably killed his best friend.

Then there was Ignis going blind. All because Noctis had to receive the Blessing from Leviathan to help bring some obscure prophecy to fruitation. If he hadn’t needed to, Ignis would not have lost his sight.

Everything. Every loss and every injury - all his fault. So he deserved that limp.

Originally the damage had been sustained from when the daemon attack killed the royal convoy. That was why he and Regis had journeyed to Tenebrae in the first place; to get Noctis healed by the then-Oracle.

Noctis had taken a while to learn to walk again. And he would forever have some damage because of how deep the daemon’s blades had cut through the young boy’s flesh.

But it provided the perfect cover.

Nobody knew. Nobody knew his limp wasn’t so bad anymore. That the sting he felt was from something a lot shallower than his original injury. Whenever he ran for too long, sweat would seep into the angry red lines on his flesh. It tended to startle him and he’d instinctively slow down as a response. Salty sweat in fresh broken skin tended to demand attention there and then. So feigning his limp, Noctis would deal with the pain without arousing suspicion from his friends.

Breaking his skin and bleeding the emotions out was the only way he knew how to cope with the tempest in his head. And it doubled up nicely as a punishment for being so weak. Every line, every scar, every drop of blood deserved. In memorium of those who have passed because he was born.

The bloodletting became an addiction. Noctis closed off from everyone around him and dealt with his internal screaming with the small razor blade kept in the back of his phone. Nobody would know it was there because who would ever pull his phone apart to get to the battery? Nobody, that’s who. It was too risky keeping it stored in the Armiger. It’s not like he always used it… sometimes it was just a comfort to have it nearby.

Indeed meeting Prompto had soothed the dark thoughts. He was such a happy dorky friend, and he never let Noct stew on his emotions for too long.

But then even he became the problem.

Originally Noctis put it down to teenage hormones. Like… a gay king? No way. It must be puberty messing him up. He’d never ever been interested in boys before or after Prompto. So maybe he was just confusing the signals his body gave him.

So they became lines on his skin too.

At first the cuts were because of intense angry, sad or confused feelings. Then it became so much more than that, and Noctis yet again lost control.

He began to bleed for any and every emotion. Sadness, anger, confusion, happiness and even excitement.

It became an addiction. It became the only way he could release his emotions.

Over time as training got harder and his royal duties became more demanding, Noctis found himself going cold turkey and eventually recovered. That’s not to say the thoughts vanished, but they were manageable now.

He managed months without hurting himself.

Until the fear kicked in of leaving Insomnia.

He relapsed that night, but only a little. He managed to stop himself before he hurt himself too badly.

Travelling around with his friends had been fun and exciting, even with all the battles. It kept his dark thoughts at bay. And if they ever did arise, Noctis would just sleep or get lost in King’s Knight with Prompto. Being able to indulge in his favourite hobby of fishing really helped as well - there were no deadlines to stop him and the bigger the catch, the better about himself he felt. The razor blade laid forgotten in the back of his phone for a long long time.

In fact, the only time Noctis had thought of it was just now when he woke up.

They were headed to Tenebrae, the home of his dead bride. Another reminder.

Remaining laying on his back on the bed, Noctis reached over to the small bedside table to retrieve his phone. Sliding the back portion off, the little razor landed on his chest. Noctis held it between his finger and thumb for a few moments, willing its comforting presence to soothe his mind.

But it didn’t.

Life had gone to shit. He couldn’t control any of it. And everything that had happened was his fault.

He deserved to bleed.

Pulling his cargo shorts down to reveal the criss-crossing pattern on his thigh, Noctis closed his eyes as he dragged the sharp edge of the razor over the scar tissue, wincing ever so slightly as a strong wave of relief washed over him. All tension disappeared from his body and a small smile spread on the young King’s lips as crimson blood lazily oozed to the surface.

Now he was ready to face the day.


End file.
